


Like a Willow

by ClutchHedonist



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClutchHedonist/pseuds/ClutchHedonist
Summary: It’s a tricky prospect at best. Crowley has never bothered to count precisely how many vertebrae his corporation has. ‘More than enough’, if he had to guess. At least a handful more than a human. He’d taken a beach yoga class, once, during the early 2000s when it had been all the rage, and he’d come away with only smoothie recommendations and startled stares.Not that it hasn’t come in handy. The few times he hasn’t been able to talk his way out of a scrape, wriggling out of his bonds has often proved to be a solid plan B. But sometimes, when he catches sight of Aziraphale cuffing his sleeves or undoing his tie before bed or- or sitting that way, the one where his bloody thighs just-... well, Crowley wishes that perhaps implements meant to keep a person in a compromising position could be a little more uncompromising.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 237
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	Like a Willow

It’s a tricky prospect at best. Crowley has never bothered to count precisely how many vertebrae his corporation has. ‘More than enough’, if he had to guess. At least a handful more than a human. He’d taken a beach yoga class, once, during the early 2000s when it had been all the rage, and he’d come away with only smoothie recommendations and startled stares.

Not that it hasn’t come in handy. The few times he hasn’t been able to talk his way out of a scrape, wriggling out of his bonds has often proved to be a solid plan B. But sometimes, when he catches sight of Aziraphale cuffing his sleeves or undoing his tie before bed or- or sitting that way, the one where his bloody  _ thighs _ just-... well, Crowley wishes that perhaps implements meant to keep a person in a compromising position could be a little more uncompromising. 

He melts deeper into the bookshop back room’s battered sofa, heaving a sigh. Swiping away from the pages of useless leather cuffs he’s been browsing for the better part of an hour, he lets the phone drop onto the coffee table. Aziraphale’s gaze flicks up from the pages of his book.

“Something the matter, my dear boy?” He asks.

“M’too flexible.” Crowley grumbles.

Aziraphale’s brows cant, “I’m afraid I can’t claim to have any complaints on the subject.”

Crowley stumbles through a forest of incoherent syllables, striking every branch on the way before he manages to close his mouth. Aziraphale’s lips purse with amusement. He plucks his glasses from his nose to set them primly on the desk. 

“Do elaborate for me.” He offers.

Cheeks blazing, Crowley tries for a careless shrug, “It’s just- well, it would be nice to- to have to hold still sometimes, yeah?”

“Have to?” Aziraphale asks.

“You know.” Crowley huffs, “Be made to.”

“Made t- Oh.” The corners of Aziraphale’s mouth pluck upwards, “ _ Oh. _ ”

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, “Shut it.”

“I’m not mocking you.” Aziraphale clucks.

“It’s stupid.” Crowley grunts, “Forget it.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale rises from his chair. He tugs at the hem of his vest, and Crowley’s pulse skips. A few steps carry him to the edge of the sofa, where he effortlessly pins one of Crowley’s wrists against the arm, “Whyever didn’t you simply ask?”

“Hggnh.” Crowley says.

“There are certainly options one might pursue,” Aziraphale continues, “If one were to have a very knowledgeable associate.”

“Can’t imagine who you’re suggesting, angel.” Crowley murmurs as he curls the fingers of his free hand into Aziraphale’s lapel.

“Ah. Allow me to enlighten you, then.” Aziraphale chuckles.

He leans closer, pressing in to graze his lips along the hollow of Crowley’s throat. Crowley exhales, lets his head drop back. Aziraphale takes the invitation to sink his teeth into his pulse.

“ _ Fuck. _ ” Crowley gasps, arching, straining beneath Aziraphale’s grip.

Aziraphale drops his other hand to his hip, “I suppose I see your point.” He admits as he pushes him back against the sofa, “You  _ are _ awfully wriggly. Although I suppose a change of scenery is in order, if we’re to truly address the issue.”

A snap of his fingers brings both of them to the small flat upstairs. The sudden tilt in gravity sends Crowley tumbling back into the pillows. Aziraphale lifts one hand towards his sunglasses. Already panting, Crowley nods, and Aziraphale slides them off to set them on the nightstand.

“There you are.” He purrs, “How lovely you look, my darling.” 

Crowley nudges one calf around the crook of his knee. His arms weave up over Aziraphale’s shoulders, and he arches to bring their chests together. Warm, warm,  _ soft _ . He can feel the distant call of his body heat beneath all of his layers, clings for the chance to soak up even a hint of it. 

“Now, now. That won’t do.” Aziraphale tsks, “You’re the one who’s meant to be restrained here, not me.” 

Crowley whines as Aziraphale unravels him from himself. Then, he leans back, tapping one finger to his lips. Crowley swallows over the din of his pulse in his ears. 

“Hmm. But what to do with you?” Aziraphale ponders, “Cuffs are right out. And I can’t imagine even a spreader bar or two would pose much of a challenge for you.” He rucks up Crowley’s shirt to run an affectionate palm over his side, up the length of his body to his ribs, “No, you’ll need something truly inescapable, won’t you?”

“What sort of something?” Crowley breathes. His clothing has begun to feel strangling in its own right, if only in the way that it prevents Aziraphale from touching any scrap of skin he might please to.

“Oh, my darling.” Aziraphale chortles, “In this case, I’m fairly certain that only rope will do.” 

“Can’t argue with an expert.” Crowley wheezes. His trousers are an absolute prison. 

“Let’s begin, shall we? All of this, off.” 

Aziraphale motions to his clothing, and Crowley can’t rush quickly enough to obey. It vanishes without a second thought, leaving him prone and wanting on top of the comforter. Aziraphale’s eyes rake over him as if he were an immaculately constructed mille-feuille, and Crowley flushes beneath his gaze.

“Exquisite.” Aziraphale admires. His hands twitch towards him, but he hesitates, draws back before they touch him. 

“Angel?” Crowley whimpers.

“Not yet.” Aziraphale chides, “I believe there is the matter of your abundant flexibility to be sorted first.”

Crowley watches, entranced, as a looped length of wine-colored hemp appears between his hands. Aziraphale gives a gentle tug, testing, and then nods to himself.

“If you would be so kind as to sit up, please.” He orders.

Crowley scrambles to his knees instantly, “How do you want me? Is this good? Is standing better?”

“This is perfect, my dear, thank you.” Aziraphale assures him, “Will our usual word suffice?”

Crowley nods his agreement.

“Wonderful. Hands behind your back, please. Wrists stacked.”

He works the rope as if it’s water. A tie to bind his wrists to one another. One way around his chest, then looped through itself to flow back the way it came. Careful, manicured fingers smooth out any imperfections. Crowley feels himself begin to drift. It’s quiet, even inside, so much quieter than he’s used to, and the rhythm of Aziraphale’s steady breathing is never far away. He tilts his cheek against his shoulder as he begins to work along his waist.

“Love you.” He murmurs. 

Aziraphale stills to meet his eyes, “My sweet serpent. I love you so.” He replies, nuzzling into his temple, “Let go, mm? You needn’t hold so still. I have you precisely where I’d like you.”

Crowley shudders and does his best to relax. Aziraphale resumes his work, dropping a kiss into Crowley’s hair here and there. Slowly, Crowley’s muscles begin to unspool, until the rope is all that’s left holding him together. He sighs with relief. 

“So good for me.” Aziraphale hums.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley shivers, breath catching in his throat.

“Right here, darling.” 

“Want you.” He begs.

Aziraphale smiles, “In due time, my love. Nearly there.”

He anchors a hand at the nape of Crowley’s neck, uses it to lower him back down into the pillows. Crowley sinks into them, utterly pliant. He’s fairly certain he wouldn’t even know where he ends and the bed begins if not for the rope defining his edges. 

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale begins, “That as much as I adore your cock, I might be able to help you enjoy this best if you were to wear that pretty little clit of yours. What do you think, mm?”

“Oh, Sssatan.” Crowley groans, “Anything you like, angel, as long as you’ll have me.”

“I very much intend to.” Aziraphale chuckles. Then, he parts Crowley’s thighs with warm palms, “Come along, my dear. Show me your lovely cunt.”

Crowley scrambles for whatever operable neurons he can still control. Eventually, his body shifts, falls into place, and when Aziraphale runs a finger up the center of him, he’s already slick. His hips do their best to buck into the touch, and only then does Crowley realise that Aziraphale has rendered the entire top half of his body inextricably motionless. He stutters out a ragged gasp that skids quickly into a moan. 

“Stunning.” Aziraphale praises, “Really, Crowley. Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” Crowley bites his lip, squirms, and Aziraphale smiles broadly. He runs admiring fingertips along the trail of rust red hair beneath Crowley’s navel, “Absolutely flawless. What a treat it is to see you this way.”

The heat of his palm reaches Crowley’s cunt, and Crowley whimpers and strains, “F-Fuck, Aziraphale-”

“Just another few moments, my dear.” Aziraphale promises as he regrips the working end of the rope, “You’ve been so patient for me.” 

A gentle twist here and there works the line over Crowley’s hips and thighs. He gasps out loud as Aziraphale brings it between his legs, and then urges Crowley’s clit into place between the two taut rails.

“I know, I know. Gauche of me, splitting the rope.” Aziraphale coos, “But I simply can’t help but indulge you.”

Crowley strangles a series of desperate cries as Aziraphale fixes each of his ankles to the thigh of the same leg in turn. Every hint of fresh tension on the rope offers a moment of delicious friction that leaves Crowley spinning. He’s soaking, now, and when Aziraphale dips two fingers between his legs to bring a taste of him to his lips, Crowley feels himself begin to dribble onto the bed beneath.

“Oh, my darling. You taste divine.” Aziraphale sighs as he lowers himself between Crowley’s long thighs, “I’m afraid there’s no use in trying to prevent me from spoiling myself at least a little before I allow you what you need.”

Crowley’s stomach jerks as he feels him lick a long stripe up the center of his cunt, “God- Satan-  _ aah! _ ” He cries as Aziraphale lets out a delighted moan against him. 

Aziraphale’s tongue works between his lips, where the slick has gathered generously around his entrance. He chases the taste of it, licks into him with eager strokes that liquify Crowley’s remaining thoughts at once. The ropes hold him in place as Aziraphale savors him, fills him, fucks into him, warm and wet and hungry, takes him apart. Crowley’s cunt spasms helplessly around his tongue. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” Aziraphale scolds as he draws back from him, “Not yet. Good boys wait to come until they’re told.”

Crowley barely manages to choke back a whine. Aziraphale chuckles as he leans up over him to bring their mouth together. Crowley can taste himself on his lips. 

“Please,” He begs when they split for breath, “Please, I can’t wait any longer. I n-need you.”

Aziraphale sits back. Already, there’s a dark spot on the front of his trousers where his cock has begun to leak against them. Crowley wants to put his mouth to it, suck the taste of him from it until it’s clean. He struggles to sit up to no avail. Rolls onto one side instead, pressing his forehead worshipfully to Aziraphale’s knee, even as the rope on either side of his clit sends sparks through his veins. Above him, he can hear Aziraphale undoing his belt buckle.

He flips him onto his back as if he’s nothing more than a ragdoll. Crowley’s chest heaves with breath that feels more and more necessary with every touch of Aziraphale’s hands, parting his bound legs, lining up his now-exposed cock at Crowley’s entrance. Aziraphale is thick, red and dripping at the tip with need, and Crowley’s heart skips at the barest brush of him.

“Are you ready for me, my darling boy?” Aziraphale asks, his voice grown rough with restraint.

“Yesss.” Crowley chokes out, ‘Oh, fuck, yes, please, inside, I need-  _ haah! _ ”

He throws his head back into the pillows as Aziraphale breaches him. Fuck,  _ fuck,  _ he’s so hard, velvet-soft to the touch, but unyielding inside him, like an iron bar as he splits him apart. Crowley doesn’t know what he’s saying, if he’s saying anything at all, only that he’s keening, howling in satisfaction.

“S-So good,” He wails, “Angel, s-so fucking good.”

“Oh, Crowley, you’re  _ transcendent _ .” Aziraphale breathes in a rush against his throat, “What a perfect little cunt you’ve made for me, my dear. And how beautifully you take me.”

Crowley soars at the praise, arching to snap his hips up into Aziraphale’s thrusts as best he can. It’s incredible, the way he sheaths himself in him down to the very hilt. There’s no room to wriggle, no space to slither or shy away. Aziraphale is everywhere, is around him, is inside him. He stretches and fills him until all Crowley can do is yield, is let himself be fucked bare. 

“Close, I’m close.” He gasps up at him.

“Come.” Aziraphale commands, “Come around my cock, you remarkable, delicious creature.”

Crowley thrashes up against him, overcome. The waves of his climax roar through him like a riot, seize his muscles and clench his cunt around Aziraphale’s cock, over and over again. Somewhere during all of it, he hears Aziraphale cry out, feels wet heat blossom inside him. 

“Oh,  _ f-fuck _ , yes, come in me, Aziraphale.” He pants and presses his forehead against his shoulder.

“So good.” Aziraphale groans as he spends himself, “Oh, Crowley, so good for me.”

When he finally collapses beneath him, Aziraphale is beaming down at him. Whether the light above him is the overhead lamp or his halo, Crowley doesn’t bother to ascertain. All he knows is the tender warmth of Aziraphale’s hands as he draws back, strokes a few tears from his cheek. 

Crowley lays spent and boneless as Aziraphale undoes each of the ties, kissing into the stinging red marks left beneath. Murmuring soothing words into his skin. Cleaning between his legs with a soft cloth. And finally, as Aziraphale takes him into his arms. Crowley breathes softly, evenly against his throat. 

“Is this what you needed, my dear boy?” Aziraphale croons into his temple.

“Mmnh.” Crowley exhales, “S’ _ good. _ ”

With a quiet laugh, Aziraphale smoothes a few strands of red from his forehead, “I’m glad. Perhaps we might explore it further once you’ve had a chance to recover. I’ve heard  _ wonderful  _ things about electroconductive jute, you know.”

“Wh-” Crowley stammers, “Electro-”

“Sleep, darling.” Aziraphale chuckles, “There will be plenty of time to discuss it in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me at clutchhedonist.tumblr.com  
> i'm always taking prompts <3


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